I'm Not Him
by Belker
Summary: "I really should have known better." Basement, boat and bourbon in a different view. One-shot. Hmmm... now a two-shot, obviously.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi! I'm in a really annoying period of writer's block right now, so to get me going I've written this little piece. It's early in the seasons. Just a little angsty family drama, I suppose. _

_Hope you'll enjoy. /Belker_

* * *

"Hey, boss", a voice called to me softly. It took a while for my blurry mind to work out the meaning of those words, but I vaguely recognized the melodious baritone as belonging to my SFA. A hand landed tentatively on my shoulder. "Boss, you okay?"

"M 'wake", I rumbled, mostly because my aching head couldn't handle to string more words than those together. As I blinked my stinging eyes open, the worried face of my young agent swam into view. The steadying hand was snatched away. _Hell, not those issues again. _I sighed deeply, and winced when I noticed Tony stiffen even more at the smell of alcohol on my breath. I turned my head and mumbled "'M good", before sitting up with a groan.

Tony backed away, looking at me guardedly. "Morrow was worried." Not _I_ or _we_, but Morrow. _Shit._

"'M good", I slurred again, hoping that by repeating those words it would actually become true. The way my agent backed away even more told me just how miserably _that_ had failed.

"Good", said Tony.

I could feel myself being scrutinized, measured. Not judged - never judged - but that only made it worse. Tony's wary energy vibrated in the stuffy air; bounced off the basement walls, echoed in the empty bottle of bourbon, stirred up the memories seated in the dust.

"What time is't?" I asked instead, coughing as I got up. I didn't miss the way Tony's eyes twitched at the unexpected sound. That _really_ hurt.

I stilled right then and tried to collect myself. I scrubbed my hands over my face. "I'm not him, DiNozzo." Tony shifted, but didn't answer. By the way he didn't react, though, I knew he understood just fine what I was talking about.

I lifted heavy eyes to glance at the young man standing before me. A young man I - in a sense - had raised, taught never to stand down, never give up, always fight for what he believed in. In that moment all my efforts were wasted, vanished on account of one too many glasses of liquor. I could see it plainly in DiNozzo's eyes, even if his stance with crossed arms and set jaw belied all that.

_My boy, _I thought before I had the time or judgment not to. _I'm so sorry. For what he's done to you. For what _I've_ done._

"I'll wait in the car", Tony mumbled and climbed the stairs two steps at a time.

I had brushed my teeth for a good ten minutes and had changed my clothes, but Tony didn't talk to me for the rest of that day. When we caught a case later that afternoon, Kate was already giving both of us glances. Couldn't have that.

I cornered him in the elevator late that night, when all his paperwork was filled and all his energy was depleted. I didn't ask, I didn't accuse, I just looked at him in a silent plea. He leaned heavily on the wall and heaved such a world-weary sigh a man of his age should never be able to.

"I don't want to be reminded of _him_ by you", he finally said and I had to strain my ears to hear him. "It's _wrong_." He shifted. "I'm not - I'm not supposed to be afraid of you."

The hug I gave him was as much to give him reassurance that he never, ever had to be afraid of me, as to hide my own tears.

Later that night I tossed a new bottle of bourbon in the trash.


	2. Chapter 2

_Hi. I know, I know - I ought to work on Waiting, but this one came much more easily... Just a continuation of scenes that could have played out when Tony was really young on Gibbs team._ _Maybe OOC, but - hey! - Tony's matured a lot (?) in nine years._

* * *

I knocked on his door for what seemed like an eternity, before I heard him curse from the other side of the paper-thin wood. Even though the expletives weren't nice to listen to, I was so relieved to hear his voice I didn't care.

"It's me - open the door, DiNozzo!" I barked in a pause in his tirade. The silence that followed had me holding my breath, ready to repeat my (pleading) order. "You know damn well I can pick this lock in under a minute." It wasn't a threat – more of a promise, and my voice held no anger. I wasn't angry with him. I couldn't be angry with him. This was all me. My fault. I drew a breath to start reasoning with him, when a rattle and a click told me he had unlocked the door. It swung open, but all I saw of him was his unruly mop of hair and T-shirt clad back.

"Would've been interesting to see how you'd have handled the safety chain," I heard him mutter.

I recognized this rare show of trust for what it was and slowly, carefully followed him to the kitchen. I leaned on the door post, letting him adjust to the idea that his boss was there, in his apartment, demanding something from him. He had his back turned and put his hands on the counter; head hung low, back heaving with his breaths.

"You know," I started, "Never had anyone curse me out like that before. Even after three divorces." I was hoping the light tone would center him somewhat. All it did was making his head hang heavier. "Hey!" I said sharply, because I didn't like this DiNozzo, who didn't recognize a poor attempt at a joke when he heard one. I immediately regretted the bark when he flinched like he had this morning and his shoulders bunched up even more.

Two strides and I was right by his side. "Hey," I said - softly this time – and laid a hand on his shoulder. I'm not much of a tactile person - head slaps aside- but I do know when touch can help ground a person. "Talk to me."

"Not much to say, is there?" The words were harsh, his voice gravelly.

"The hell there isn't," I softly said and felt his muscles twitch. "I scared you this morning and for that I am truly sorry." To hell with my no apologies rule. First rule of having rules; know when to break them.

"Not scared," he mumbled. I didn't dignify that with a comment. The truth was that he _had_ been scared. Had been terrified and it was all my doing. I just pretended I hadn't heard him.

We stood like that for a while, him leaning on the counter, stubbornly refusing to turn around, me just standing there with my hand on his back, listening to his breathing slowly calm down.

"Tony, look at me," I whispered. I wanted him to see the earnestness in my eyes before I told him anything else. He sighed and slowly let go of the counter to turn around. He looked like a boy facing his father after he'd done something naughty; head bowed, eyes downcast. "Look at me." He raised his head obediently and I caught his eye with my sincere gaze. I tried a crocked smile and it actually helped. He deflated and leaned his back against the counter. "You did nothing wrong today, DiNozzo, trust me on that."

He just nodded and blinked his eyes furiously. I realized they were wide and red and shiny and I put my hand on his cheek and wiped away an obviously embarrassing tear with my thumb.

"You didn't do anything wrong, son."

We have never had to address this issue again.

The End


End file.
